so no man might think I was threatening any sort of brangle.
—How is’t with thee and thy Kitling? he asked me a while later.
And I replied, Tis well.
—Get thee to her, then, quoth he, I can look out for mine own self now: forewarned is forearmed. But I thank thee, Fabian; very much do I thank thee.
So although I still did doubt that he was in peril, I stood up to leave the inn.
In the street outside, the which was very dark, there being but a fingernail of a moon in the sky, a cloaked figure came up to me. For the space of one breath I did believe it to be Roger, for the cloak was like unto his own; but I knew that he could not have been there ere I was. And indeed the man was too little in height.
A hand plucked my arm, and a voice whispered my name, Master Stedman, and it was not the voice of a man. I looked at the hidden face, and a light from the window fell on it then, and I was stonished to recognize Ann Pakeman: dressed in boy’s clothes and very strange to behold.
—Help me, she rounded in my ear, I must see Roger, for I believe my Father means to have him murdered.
—Rest easy, Mistress Ann, says I, he is safe, he is warned.
—Is he within? she asked.
And I replied, Ay.
—I beseech you, do you bid him attend me here, she said.
—But you could go within doors yourself, said I, in that disguise.
At the which she smiled and said, Clothes maketh the man, but blushes make a woman; the which I thought was a clever conceit and very witty for a woman.
—Do you bide here, then, I said, and I will fetch him to you; and went back inside the inn.
I saw that Roger had finished his ale and was staring at the table; he did not observe me at first. Then he looked up; before he could speak I told him that Mistress Ann was without, dressed as a man.
—She must needs be in great anxiety for you, I said; he got to his feet and followed me to the door.
—Where then is she, he enquired, for we could not see her. I looked around and could perceive naught but a bottle of rags in the gutter.
—Mistress Ann, I called; then out of the shadows comes Master Pakeman, alone this time.
His eyes met mine own and he said, By now your comrade, the lecher, is dead; I turned my head to Roger behind me and was on the point of speaking, but Master Pakeman then looked down and beheld the bundle. He lifted his lanthorn and I saw that it was not old rags but a cadaver with a sack over the head and torso; it had been stabbed three or four times, and the blood on the sack was black in the dim light.
Roger pushed by me and spake: Master Pakeman.
I never saw such a look as that on my Master’s Features then, rage and doubt and wonder chasing each other across his visage.
—Then who is this, he demanded, in a whisper more horrid than a shout. I believe that I knew the dreadful answer before it did dawn upon either Roger or my Master; but it was Master Pakeman who knelt by the corpse and stripped aside the bloody sack to reveal, horresco referens, 1 the face of his daughter Ann.
11 horrid to tell
—Ann, Ann, quoth he in broken tones, then to Roger in a voice of thunder, This is your doing.
—Mine? cried Roger, and in his voice grief as deep as the ocean-seas, a loss that echoed in the skies and made me shiver at its emptiness, for this was a man with a void within; I saw the tears running down his face. Why, you foolish old man, I loved her better than ever you did, to keep her mewed up and deny her even a little space of joy.
Master Pakeman buried his face in his hands, I that thought he too was weeping. And then the rain began, and washed away the blood and the tears both; And I slipped away, being not comfortable with such grief, to seek solace in my Catherine’s Arms, and in her bed, and in her body, and in amabilis insania. 1
ME
4 : A Weariness of the Flesh
‘Fruits fall and love dies and time ranges;
Thou art fed with perpetual breath,
And alive after infinite changes,
And fresh from the kisses of
—How is’t with thee and thy Kitling? he asked me a while later.
And I replied, Tis well.
—Get thee to her, then, quoth he, I can look out for mine own self now: forewarned is forearmed. But I thank thee, Fabian; very much do I thank thee.
So although I still did doubt that he was in peril, I stood up to leave the inn.
In the street outside, the which was very dark, there being but a fingernail of a moon in the sky, a cloaked figure came up to me. For the space of one breath I did believe it to be Roger, for the cloak was like unto his own; but I knew that he could not have been there ere I was. And indeed the man was too little in height.
A hand plucked my arm, and a voice whispered my name, Master Stedman, and it was not the voice of a man. I looked at the hidden face, and a light from the window fell on it then, and I was stonished to recognize Ann Pakeman: dressed in boy’s clothes and very strange to behold.
—Help me, she rounded in my ear, I must see Roger, for I believe my Father means to have him murdered.
—Rest easy, Mistress Ann, says I, he is safe, he is warned.
—Is he within? she asked.
And I replied, Ay.
—I beseech you, do you bid him attend me here, she said.
—But you could go within doors yourself, said I, in that disguise.
At the which she smiled and said, Clothes maketh the man, but blushes make a woman; the which I thought was a clever conceit and very witty for a woman.
—Do you bide here, then, I said, and I will fetch him to you; and went back inside the inn.
I saw that Roger had finished his ale and was staring at the table; he did not observe me at first. Then he looked up; before he could speak I told him that Mistress Ann was without, dressed as a man.
—She must needs be in great anxiety for you, I said; he got to his feet and followed me to the door.
—Where then is she, he enquired, for we could not see her. I looked around and could perceive naught but a bottle of rags in the gutter.
—Mistress Ann, I called; then out of the shadows comes Master Pakeman, alone this time.
His eyes met mine own and he said, By now your comrade, the lecher, is dead; I turned my head to Roger behind me and was on the point of speaking, but Master Pakeman then looked down and beheld the bundle. He lifted his lanthorn and I saw that it was not old rags but a cadaver with a sack over the head and torso; it had been stabbed three or four times, and the blood on the sack was black in the dim light.
Roger pushed by me and spake: Master Pakeman.
I never saw such a look as that on my Master’s Features then, rage and doubt and wonder chasing each other across his visage.
—Then who is this, he demanded, in a whisper more horrid than a shout. I believe that I knew the dreadful answer before it did dawn upon either Roger or my Master; but it was Master Pakeman who knelt by the corpse and stripped aside the bloody sack to reveal, horresco referens, 1 the face of his daughter Ann.
11 horrid to tell
—Ann, Ann, quoth he in broken tones, then to Roger in a voice of thunder, This is your doing.
—Mine? cried Roger, and in his voice grief as deep as the ocean-seas, a loss that echoed in the skies and made me shiver at its emptiness, for this was a man with a void within; I saw the tears running down his face. Why, you foolish old man, I loved her better than ever you did, to keep her mewed up and deny her even a little space of joy.
Master Pakeman buried his face in his hands, I that thought he too was weeping. And then the rain began, and washed away the blood and the tears both; And I slipped away, being not comfortable with such grief, to seek solace in my Catherine’s Arms, and in her bed, and in her body, and in amabilis insania. 1
ME
4 : A Weariness of the Flesh
‘Fruits fall and love dies and time ranges;
Thou art fed with perpetual breath,
And alive after infinite changes,
And fresh from the kisses of
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